


Lasting A Little While Longer

by AndreaLyn



Category: The Hobbit RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-18
Updated: 2014-03-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 00:43:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1087563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndreaLyn/pseuds/AndreaLyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the war, Dean had gone home with the expectation of never seeing Aidan again, but then he found himself in New York in the shadow of a great mansion and possessing the potential to reconnect with the dream man who got him through the nightmares.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

In the distance, the summer sun glints off the ever distant horizon, white-cresting waves bringing the sea closer to the shore. Here, on the New York coast, Dean’s decided to settle in the shadow of a new money mansion bought from investing in the right places, selling expansive reaches of farmland, and doing whatever he could. 

He has to be here.

He has to be _here_.

“Dean?” 

It’s Adam, holding the phone in his hand. “What is it?” Dean asks, even though he already knows. He knows that he’s practically sold his soul to get where he is, but he’s in the shadow of the one place he needs to be after four years of searching. He turns to face Adam, shaking his head. “Tell Graham I don’t want to speak to him. I’m not doing it today.”

“We’ve been here six months, Dean,” Adam gently says. “You have to do it sometime.”

Dean nods, but disregards the insistence. They’ve been in New York State for six months and for all that time, he’s lived in this humble abode that could fit two people but only houses one. Beside him looms a great mansion owned by a Mr. Aidan Turner and his associate, Ms. Lilly – a woman of some ill-repute in the city, though the only ill thing Dean can sense is that she makes more money than some men could even dream of. This is where he needs to be. This is where the letters have led him. Four years ago, in 1918, a war came to a close and Dean left a theatre of warfare with shaking hands and pierced eardrums, but also of broken heart and a caught tongue.

In the midst of the trenches and the bloodshed, Dean had found someone impossible and perfect and incredible. They had been inseparable during the war effort and had even exchanged some letters when all the hurly-burly was said and done. Then the letters began to dwindle with talk of a new business venture in America. 

And then the letters had stopped.

So here Dean was with Adam and Graham, two men he’d met while fighting the war, and a meagre house filled with a paltry number of possessions. Dean adjusts the loosely knotted Windsor knot of his navy blue tie and yanks it off, stalking inside from the porch that wraps around the long bungalow. “Tell Graham that it won’t be today.”

“You travelled from London back to Auckland and all the way here,” Adam chides, but he does hang up the phone, “and you’ve sat here six months staring morosely at that palace, but you won’t go over there. You won’t knock on the door. Why?”

Why? 

“Why?” Dean asks aloud, echoing his internal doubts. “You know what happened there. You know that I can’t face him again after everything we saw together, after the battle’s smoke has cleared. What we had, what we did...we’d be hung.”

“Not only you,” Adam reminds him quietly.

Adam and Graham are here with him because they understand. They’re here because they found something similar in the skirmishes. Brotherhood, companionship, devotion, and _love_. They live nearby in the city where the throngs of people make it difficult to pick out the lives of two men. Out here, where the small town politics mean that your neighbours notice everything, Dean would never be so lucky.

Six months of not walking next door and reuniting with his closest brother in arms is also a point against him.

“I’m going back into the city,” Adam says. “Please do me a favour and don’t sit here sadly in the dark staring into his windows?”

“He’d purchase curtains if he didn’t want people staring,” Dean replies.

“Ms. Lilly might, but Aidan never did care about appearances,” Adam says pointedly. “Remember that, will you?” He presses a fond kiss to Dean’s cheek, patting him warmly on the other as he collects his hat and coat, checking his pocket watch. “If you hurry with me, we can make the next train. You could use the distraction.”

His nightly routine is this: he takes up a book that he proceeds to ignore fully for staring at the house next door, watching shadows pass by the windows and wondering who they might be. He wonders what Aidan is doing now and how he came to be in this place. It’s a pitiful and pathetic plan and Dean knows it very well, but it’s difficult for him to break away from the hope that tonight might be the night he goes over.

And so, he makes his decision.

“You’re right,” he says, giving Adam a nod of his head. “You’re absolutely right. I need to get out of this prison. I need to see the city and all its’ lights.” He needs to escape the ghostly infatuation from his past, looming over him for four years without any indication of fading. By the look on Adam’s face, it’s a long overdue decision that he ought to have made a long time ago, but Dean’s not willing to listen to too much (or any) caterwauling about the shock of it all. He plucks his straw hat off its’ hook and claps Adam on the shoulder. “Show me the city,” he insists, “and all its’ gleaming sights and maybe you can steal my heart away from the beacon it’s attached itself to.”

Adam still seems awash in disbelief. “You’re going to leave your vigil,” he says. “It’s a miracle.”

“No,” Dean responds in patient turn. “It’s sanity reminding me that Aidan’s not going anywhere and I need to clear my head.”

“Graham and I know just the place,” says Adam with a mischievous glint in his eye that spells the beginning of the night’s trouble. Dean wants a clear head, but perhaps he’s spoken too soon because as Adam leads him onwards towards the car, all manner of concocted chaos floods his mind and the night takes on a dozen wild possibilities. He’s ashamed to say, but it excites and thrills him, titillates him at the very idea of misbehaving. “Come on, now, Deano,” he continues with a wink. “The night’s only beginning.”

It should be enough to terrify him, but tonight Dean feels like possibility might steal him away from his longing and lingering. 

The train into the city takes its’ time and brings them to a gleaming beacon on the horizon that could hold either hope or someone’s demise and Dean is hoping for the former tonight. When he and Adam disembark, Graham is waiting for them in his Sunday best – grey pinstripe suit and a fedora with a feather in his cap. 

“He came,” Graham notes with shock as Dean lets go of the train’s railing and leaves it to continue onwards.

“Really, you don’t have to look so shocked,” Dean says, wishing it weren’t such a shock to see him out of his house. “I decided a change of scenery might be the best thing for me. Well, then, boys. What’s the plan for tonight?”

“Just you wait and see,” Graham says.

They’re led onwards through the city and the roars of the crowd until Graham finds a back-alley and a thick door. He knocks heavily twice, followed by a quicker third knock and leans his shoulder up against the steel monstrosity while he waits.

“Password,” comes the request from behind the door.

“Rin tin tin,” replies Graham with a coy wink in Adam’s direction. Dean feels like the odd man out and will be more than grateful when they get inside. Perhaps it’ll help to dissipate the awkward outsider feeling that sways over him with such power. 

Graham seems to have it right on the button. The door swings open for them and reveals a long hallway leading down to a set of stairs. The doorman looks vaguely familiar and it takes Dean a moment to realize that he knows that face.

“Jed,” says Dean. “Last time I saw you, we were in Paris.”

“And you can see I escaped,” he jests. “Come on in. We’ve got a bunch of ex-pats down here who’ve made up a little community of our own.” Adam and Graham have gone on ahead, but Dean’s all too happy to linger a little and not feel quite so much like he’s ruining someone’s date. “What are you doing over here? I heard you went back to New Zealand.”

“I did,” Dean says, feeling a weary silence wash over him. He’s not sure he wants to talk about why he’s come to New York. America is the dream for so many people, but his dream lives so close to him and doesn’t even know he’s there.

His dream is shrouded in black and grey, forbidden by society.

“Is that O’Gorman?” shouts a familiar voice from over the din of jazz music and bottles clinking together.

They’re in the thick of the party now. In the corner on a stage barely elevated above the ground is a three-piece band playing the latest hits and a bartender pours liquor freely to anyone who comes forth with a glass. The man asking who he is pushes through the dancing masses to arrive at his side.

“Remember me?”

“How could I ever forget?” Dean wonders, stunned at the sight before him. “Jimmy, what the hell are you doing here?” he demands, laughing warmly as he practically launches forward to hug Jimmy as tightly as he can. He’s overwhelmed by how much his accent washes over him and nearly brings him home, even if it’s a few counties away from where he expects it to be. “You said you were going to stay in Paris and make a fortune.”

“It turns out the shady streets of New York are a tad better of a place if you know the right people,” Jimmy says, rubbing his chin with his thumb. “And what about you? You were supposed to go back to New Zealand and become a captain of industry.” 

“There were some things I couldn’t let go of just yet,” he says.

“Have you dropped by the mansion?” Jimmy asks, pressing a drink into Dean’s hand as he winds an arm over his shoulder, leading him onwards into the den of sin. “Ms. Lilly does most of the entertaining during the day, but our boy knows how to throw a bit of a shindig. He’s had us over a few times.”

“No, he...” Dean clears his throat, trying to work past the lump that always comes of thinking of Aidan. “He doesn’t know I’m here.”

Jimmy stares at him for a long moment and Dean suddenly fears that perhaps Adam and Graham hadn’t been the only ones to know their secret. Soon, though, Jimmy speaks again and the fear bleeds out of Dean easily. “Shame,” he says. “You two were sewn together at the hip. Best friends I’ve seen in a long while,” he says with a firm nod. “I’ll tell him you’re back...”

“Jimmy, no,” Dean protests, but Jimmy’s already wandered off to greet someone new.

Jed’s somewhere in the throng of people and Adam and Graham are busy dancing a foxtrot together. Dean feels, suddenly, so alone that it hits him like a physical wound. He’d walked through the whole of the war earning no more than small wounds, but now he feels more mortally wounded than ever before and it’s all because Aidan is so close through proximity and connections, but Dean can’t bring himself to reach across the distance and reconnect.

He finds a place at the bar and talks amiably to a few of Jimmy’s acquaintances, is entertained by Graham and Adam’s sweaty, tipsy confessions in between dances, and he even gets taken for a spin when Jed insists they do the Charleston. 

By the time the wee hours of the morning roll around, the loneliness has somewhat ebbed and faded away and Dean can appreciate the night out with friends for what it was and nothing more. 

“Thank you,” he says, clasping Adam’s hand and shaking it firmly when they drop him off at the train station. Never one to truly over-indulge, Dean is only slightly tipsy and will likely be sober as soon as the night air sinks in. It’s nippy and the clouds above threaten to pour at any second. “You can drop me off, now,” he laughs, when Adam doesn’t let go of his hand.

“Let us pay for a cab,” he insists, words slurred together. “Least we can do.”

“I’ll use the train home to clear my head,” Dean promises, giving Adam a light push in Graham’s direction. “ _Go_ , would you? He’s waiting for you.” He waits on the platform until the last possible moment, hopping on the train and watching as Graham slides an arm around Adam’s shoulders and tucks him in comfortably against his side like they’ve fit that way their whole lives.

Dean closes his eyes tightly and welcomes back that piercing ache in his chest. It’s perfect, then, that the skies above him take the opportunity to crash open and start pouring down on him. He ducks away from the windows and curls up with hat in hand, letting the train’s monotonous journey lull him into a half sleep.

And in it, he sees Aidan.

Dream-like, but perfect, he is everything that Dean remembered. He dreams of Aidan’s smile, the ones that brightened even the darkest days on the battlefield and the constancy of Aidan’s fingers running over Dean’s skin in those trenches when neither of them could sleep for the bombardment and the nightmares. Aidan had been the dream through the nightmare, but now he’s the shadow haunting Dean.

It’s as if every nightmare of the war has wrapped itself up and is standing a short distance away and if Dean wants to let Aidan back in, he has to take the good with the bad.

Or he can admit that four years has been too long and walk away.

“Sir,” the conductor says, giving his shoulder a light shake. “Your stop, sir.”

Dean nods his head in thanks and stares up at the sky above. It’s pouring now, but the house is only a short walk from the station. If he’s looking for something to clear his head, this is the walk that will do it – and will also soak him to the bone. He tucks a copy of the paper under his arm and sticks his hat on his head to make the fifteen minute walk back to his bungalow through the mud and the dirt.

When he’s within spitting distance, he sees the lights on the mansion are lit up as if its’ residents are still awake at this ungodly hour. Dean wonders if there’s some sort of emergency afoot and he nearly convinces himself to walk over and find out when he realizes he needn’t do any such thing.

On the swing of his porch in a brilliant sleek black suit, sits Aidan.

Dean is soaked from head to toe. His hair (once firm with pomade) has now slipped down over his forehead and curls lazily into his eyes, forcing him to brush it back to clear his sight and forced to wonder if maybe the dreams haven’t swallowed him whole. Aidan stands in a burst of staccato movement, hand over his heart and a yearning look in his eyes. With every soppy step forward, Aidan doesn’t flicker or falter. He’s there as surely as he’d been four years ago in the last days of the war.

“She told me she’d seen a ghost out here,” says Aidan. “The man from my pictures, but I didn’t believe her.”

The rain sluices down Dean’s face and he wipes it away with damp hands. Perhaps in drier weather, he might have been crying, but mingled with the rain, his happy tears are invisible for the world to see. 

“Dean,” says Aidan. “What are you doing here?”

“Waiting,” is all Dean says. “Waiting,” he repeats, quieter.


	2. Chapter 2

They stay there for moments that feel like hours. The drink is beginning to loosen its’ grip on Dean’s system and sobriety fast approaches. Aidan hasn’t moved. He stands tall and still like a gleaming statue on the horizon. He stands there as though he’s willing to remain until Dean takes a step forward to close the distance between them.

“Evie told me she’d seen the man in my pictures out here, pacing the lawn of this little house...”

“It’s not little,” Dean interjects, his pride forcing his chin up. “It’s normal sized. Not everyone needs mansions like yours.” His breath catches in his chest as he realizes how easy it’d been to slide back into old habits. They had bickered their way through countries and it had been one of the brightest parts of his day. 

There never was a conversation to be had without an argument at its’ feet.

Aidan seems to recall that too, given the gentle smile on his lips. 

In these early hours of the morning, nothing seems possible and everything can happen. Dean is so tired he could fall to his knees and weep with exhaustion, but it’s wonderment that makes him finally take those steps forward to reach shaking fingers out to touch Aidan’s cheek as if the mere contact with Aidan’s cheek will burn him as swiftly as that wretched gas in his nightmares. “How can you be here? So late,” Dean remarks, shaking his head. “Now, of all times.”

“After Evie, Ms. Lilly, after she told me she’d seen you, I began watching out my windows and tonight I saw you leave,” Aidan says, tipping his face into Dean’s touch with the sort of gentle ease that accompanies all of Aidan’s movements. “And it was as if a ghost had jumped out of my dreams and you were there. You’re _here_ ,” he says with boyish delight. “You’re here.”

As if remembering where _here_ is, Dean pulls his hand away.

Here is where there is always someone watching and where someone’s words can easily fly through a small town like this and ruin lives. He takes a step backward against the forward momentum that’s driven him forward, but steps to the side to get under the protection of the awning. Now, a bit less soaked, he takes off his hat and smoothes a trembling hand through his hair.

“What are you doing on my steps at such an ungodly hour?” Dean asks.

“It wasn’t so ungodly seven hours ago when I first came here thinking you’d be back in a matter of moments,” Aidan replies, smiling that special way he’s always possessed. It’s the one that makes him look so very young and so very much like he’s never seen anything horrible in his whole life when Dean knows that’s very much not the case.

For every horror Dean had witnessed, Aidan had been there at his side. Every death, every injury, every ongoing push and pull between nations that Dean had seen had not been witnessed alone, and yet Aidan still smiles at him as though they’re young loves seeing each other for the first time after a sweet, sticky summer in the country.

“Did you at least bring something to do?” Dean musters, opening his door and stepping inside. 

He leaves the door open in quiet invitation for Aidan to follow, though only a crack. 

“Evie’s teaching me to darn,” Aidan relays. “She was over there too, you know. She entertained. Sang where she could, made a dozen men fall in love with her.”

“A dozen and one,” Dean says, gesturing to the mansion through his small living room window. “You’re there with her, aren’t you?”

Aidan looks at Dean with such befuddlement that Dean feels guilty for being so sharp and sudden with his words. Still, he needs to fish for the truth and bring back the line or he’ll never know the honest reality of his life. 

“It’s been four years,” Dean quietly says, running his thumb over the lapel of his jacket as he takes it off cautiously, hanging it up in the narrow little front hall that leads into his kitchen. “And you stopped writing...”

“I didn’t mean to,” Aidan replies. There’s something guilty and boyish in his voice, as if a child who’s been caught in a misdeed. “Business grew faster than expected and I lost time for writing, even the most special of letters to the most incredible people.” Dean hears the small lock being flipped on and he looks back in time to see Aidan stalking down that narrow hallway with one destination in mind.

He fumbles backwards, loafers nearly catching on the lip of a warped plank of hardwood and sending him tripping. It’s undignified, running from a man you love this much, but there’s hardly much dignity in Dean’s life anymore.

“I’m tired, Aidan.”

“You’ll sleep,” Aidan says, as if he’s as sure of that fact as he is that the sun will rise and set each day.

“You need to go home, Mr. Turner,” Dean chides gently.

“No,” Aidan says in firm reply. “What was it you once told me? I don’t know what home is any longer. It’s shrouded behind the fog and the gas and the blood and the screams. I don’t know think that home can be anywhere but right beside me,” he says and he’s echoing Dean’s words from all those years ago with painful perfection.

They are exact.

He hasn’t forgotten a single word.

And why would he? Aidan had always remembered the minutia of their lives and surely remembers their stolen kisses under the midnight darkness. He likely recalls how Dean had pressed promises into his skin with ghostly kisses that when the war was through, they would find their own happiness. If only he had remembered to keep hold of Dean when the boats came and they split paths for opposite ends of the world.

“You’ve managed well without me for four years,” Dean ekes out past his dry throat.

It’s late and he’s tired. The drink has worn off and the hangover has snuck in ahead of its’ schedule to make Dean’s head pound steadily. He rubs a hand over his face and his eyes don’t do him the courtesy of staying open.

“I need to sleep,” he reiterates his earlier point.

His eyes are still shut when he feels the firm pressure of hands on his shoulders. Dean’s too weary to fight back against the gentle touch that guides him towards his bed. He sleepily protests, but Aidan does nothing more than settle him beneath the covers. Dean is stuck halfway between sleeping and the waking world, but his last moments of vision bring him Aidan in that perfect black suit.

He looks perfect.

He must have mumbled it out loud because Aidan replies with a chuckle and a swift kiss to his cheek. “You were never so kind to me back then.”

“You were real, then,” Dean sleepily replies, curling up with his pillow. “And you must be a dream, now.”

It’s the last thing he speaks before he fades into the world of dreaming and it’s unsurprising that Aidan walks through each and every one of them. He dreams of the dances they never took and of the kisses he hasn’t shared in years.

When he wakes, it’s to the smell of fried foods and the deliriously perfect vision of Aidan standing in his kitchen. His shirtsleeves are rolled up and his collar doesn’t look nearly as starched as it had last night. His trousers are wrinkled and he keeps brushing hair back from out of his face.

He must still be dreaming.

“You minx,” Dean accuses sleepily. “If you’re planning on persisting through my dreams, the least you could do is get back in bed with me,” he says as he yawns, truly believing he’s speaking to a figment of his imagination.

He’s shocked (yet pleased) when that figment crosses the room with a glass of orange juice in hand and perches on the edge of the bed.

The weight is heavy enough to dip the mattress and Dean can smell yesterday’s aftershave on Aidan’s cheeks.

This is no dream.

“You really are here,” Dean says, with great wonder in his voice. It’s a strange thing that he could feel so wary about a meeting he’s been dreaming of for so many years. And oh, Dean’s thought up a dozen ways this might have happened. He’s wondered what might happen if he had to rescue Aidan from the sea or if they bumped into each other casually at the market.

Nothing had crossed his mind so simple as this.

Aidan sitting on Dean’s bed and feeding a glass of juice to him. “I’m not an invalid,” Dean grumbles as he grabs the glass out of Aidan’s hands, careful that he doesn’t spill it. 

The brusque words do nothing to dull the fond glimmer in Aidan’s eyes. Dean recognizes that look and he knows what it means. Any second now, he can expect a kiss and the truth is that every inch and part of Dean wants it, but he busies his lips with the juice, preserving the moment for when he feels better. Right now, his mouth itches and his eyes burn and the alcohol from the night before tries to make itself a presence again.

“You stayed,” Dean murmurs. “Where did you sleep?”

“Your sofa is plenty comfortable,” Aidan assures, his words sleepy. He’s rubbing his thumb over Dean’s neck, down to the shoulder where his shirt has slipped low, and then back up to the neck in long, steady strokes. “It’s not where I wanted to be,” he nearly whispers the words, sliding his hand to Dean’s thigh. “Sorry, Deano, I can’t stop touching you. I keep expecting you to vanish.”

“The way you did when things were said and done?” Dean reminds Aidan, unable to keep the bitterness from his words.

“We were in public, the ship was leaving...”

Dean’s heard these angry excuses a dozen times, whether in letters or from Aidan or their friends. He knows them. He accepts them. It doesn’t mean he isn’t tired of them. Still, the pull of Aidan’s warm touch on his body is enough to make Dean forget so much of what transpired in the past.

“Ms. Lilly will be waiting for you,” Dean quietly reminds Aidan of the new reality.

“She’s gone into the city,” Aidan says. “Whatever you think is happening between her and I, you couldn’t be more wrong.”

Dean’s eyes have fallen and he’s drifting off into a half sleep at the soothing touch of Aidan’s steady, sure fingers against his skin. His fingertips are no longer calloused and Dean wonders how long it had taken after the war for old wounds to heal. He breathes in and out deeply, regularly, and feels deep down in his bones that this is what he’s been aiming to reclaim.

He’s about to ask whether Aidan can truly deny the woman in his halls so readily when along came a knock on his door.

Aidan shares a panicked look with him that is _all_ too heartbreakingly familiar and Dean backs away from his touch, knowing that look. It’s the fear that Aidan never shed that someone would find out about them. Dean has it too, but he had never allowed himself to be reigned by it. 

“I didn’t know you were expecting company,” Aidan says mildly.

“I wasn’t,” Dean replies, pushing the covers back and wiggling his toes as he slides himself out of bed. He’s still in last night’s clothes, but his house robe covers up all evidence of that handily. Aidan lingers behind him like a shadow, his hand on the small of Dean’s back as though now that they’re in close proximity with one another again, they can’t drift away for fear that it will be permanent. 

For a moment, Dean can do little more than lean back into Aidan’s touch and let himself drift back to those moments of leave, when they could explore London, but didn’t do much more than spend the night learning each other inside and out in whatever hotel rooms they could find. Dean forces himself to step away, reminding himself of the shame Aidan wears on his face because of them, and the gulf of years that separate their meetings.

Besides, there’s company to deal with.


	3. Chapter 3

“Who is it?” Dean calls out, once he’s taken a quick look in the mirror and found himself presentable. Aidan still lurks behind him, though he doesn’t take similar measures. He seems to feel inclined to wear his disheveled hair like a point of pride and three buttons of his shirt remain undone.

It certainly paints a promiscuous picture and yet Aidan’s the one who doesn’t want people to know.

“It’s Adam,” comes the reply and Dean practically sags forward with relief. “Graham thought it a good idea to come and check on you. You were rather maudlin at the end of the night.”

“You were?” Aidan hisses in his ear. “Why?”

Dean presses a hand in Aidan’s face to shove him away, whispering a firm ‘shut up’ to try and keep him quiet. Aidan seems inclined to continue to shove up against him, as petulant and pesky as though he were a cockroach needing to be removed. Dean knows there are very few options to contend with. He can allow Adam in and show off Aidan and talk about what’s happened or he can hide him and pretend that nothing has changed.

Knowing Adam, he’ll likely sniff Aidan out from the scent of his cologne.

“Everyone had something,” Dean hisses, not feeling as if he owed Aidan an explanation, but the words were tripping off his tongue before he could find fit to stop them. He shakes his head to try and get off the topic, shooting Aidan a sharp look. “Behave,” he warns, poking a finger in his face, preparing himself for what opening the door will bring.

Aidan holds up his hands to protest that he could ever be anything but a dignified gentleman. Dean draws in a long breath and braces himself. 

“Dean?” Adam calls plaintively. “Are you alive?” he probes curiously. Adam’s not going to go anywhere. He might seem polite, but he holds patience and endurance the likes of which is unparalleled.

Dean draws in a deep breath to steel himself and try and rid the panicked feeling in the pit of his stomach that reminds him of that gnawing stress he’d experienced after coming out of the front trenches; the knowledge that he had survived, but lost so many others and a piece of his sanity at the same time. He pulls open the door and immediately, Adam’s line of sight must go straight to Aidan because he’s not doing a very good job of hiding.

“This is not what I expected to be the cause of the delay in your opening the door. Here I thought you were just mad at me,” Adam says, the corners of his lips slowly curving upwards with genuine delight. He moves in with grace and ease, kissing Aidan’s cheek and marvelling at him as though he’s seen a ghost. “I can’t believe you’re really here,” he marvels. “Obviously we’d heard rumours about what you’ve been getting up to, but I never expected to see you here, under Dean’s roof.”

Neither can Dean.

He’s stopped thinking that his dreams would come true and yet Aidan sits before him a living, breathing man. It’s incredible. It really is. Dean’s been pinching his arm regularly to see if this will all dissolve like paint in water, confirming his belief that it’s too good to be true.

“So?” Adam asks, mischievous as anything. “Has Dean been keeping you up? I see the both of you, looking exhausted.” 

Dean is exhausted because he’s faced a ghost and is still trying to process what that means for his life. Dean is exhausted because he didn’t anticipate any of this and Aidan is standing there, looking at him as if Dean can somehow give him everything he wants and needs. Dean just doesn’t know what to do.

“It’s hardly that,” Aidan assures, grinning like a boy. “Adam, how _are_ you? How’s Graham? Are the two of you still together?”

“Happy as ever,” Adam promises, a look on his face like he’s already scheming for a way to make Dean as happy with Aidan’s recent re-arrival into their lives. “He asks about you all the time, wonders why we don’t see you in the city at some of the clubs. There’s a few familiar faces there you’d love to see. James and Jed, for one,” he offers.

“Those braggarts,” Aidan says fondly. “You’re right, I would like to see them again. We’ll have to go sometime, provided I can be guaranteed they won’t attempt to grab my arse the minute they have a single ounce of alcohol.”

“Of course, though I can’t make promises to the latter,” Adam says. “So, Dean? Why so tired? Did Aidan keep you up all night?” he asks with an innocent tone that does absolutely nothing to take away from the devilish intent behind his words.

“Adam,” Dean exhales. “Can I please have some time with Aidan alone? I really would like to catch up.”

“Of course. Dinner in the city tomorrow, seven sharp,” Adam commands, pointing at Aidan as he grabs his hat. “Bring a date provided his first name is Aidan and his last name is Turner.” 

He’s gone as quickly as he’d come, like a hurricane that arrives only to damage the sight around him before he’s dissipated into thin air. The silence hangs in the air between them sharply and Dean breathes in and out steadily, hoping to keep some control of himself.

“Speaking of invitations,” Aidan says, finally breaking that silence. “There’s one I want to offer to you.”

Dean doesn’t know what happens next here. The options seem plentiful and endless given how much Aidan stands to offer him. This is a man who, some years ago, was Dean’s whole life and each day brought with it a new dawn and the worry that somewhere down the line, Aidan wasn’t going to survive the battle. It seems almost a miracle that he has and that Dean’s managed to start up a life in the shadow of his immense mansion.

“Yes?” Dean asks, a bit breathless.

“Evie’s performing in the city tonight. I was hoping that you might agree to be my accompaniment.” Aidan slides into Dean’s space as easily as if he were water flooding the beach and filling each crevice in the sand. “It’ll be a dark club with _open minded_ folk,” he says, clasping Dean’s hands in his own.

Dean feels his breath hitch, his heart beat a little faster.

“Please come?”

How can he say no?

It’s only made worse when Aidan seems to think he’s holding out on him. He tilts his head to the side, as if considering what next step he needs to take in order to truly convince Dean to come into the city with him. Dean doesn’t even have to guess. He has a history of intimacy with Aidan and he knows that the soft brush of his lips against Dean’s jaw are a prelude to a kiss that he’s been eager for since Aidan got close enough to share their space.

Dean gives a soft exhalation, utterly entranced. “Of course,” he breathes out. “I’d do anything for you.” He hadn’t meant to admit it aloud, but now that he has, he couldn’t dare take the truth back.

Aidan kisses Dean slowly, as if to reward him for the right answer.

Dean keeps expecting him to drift away as he always has out of his dreams, but the kiss only grows deeper and it’s so familiar that Dean could cry. He’s been missing this for so long and now that he has it back, he doesn’t know that he could let go of Aidan, which is why Dean fights the urge to clasp him in closer. It’s like falling back into an old life that he didn’t think he’d get to live ever again and he’s tempted to pinch himself.

Eventually, Aidan steps back and takes the warmth of his body with him.

“I’ll pick you up tonight and we’ll ride the train in together,” Aidan says, practically bursting with excitement. “Do you have a suit? I can find you a suit if you don’t have one. I remember you only had that ratty grey thing back in London. I loved that suit,” he confesses.

“I still have it,” Dean admits. “I patched it up and had it cleaned, but it’s the same suit.”

Aidan’s gaze roams over Dean’s body, as if imagining the suit on him. “Wear it?” He glances at his watch, suddenly in much more of a hurry. “I’ve some business appointments to attend through the day, but I’ll be back at 5:30 sharp to pick you up,” he warns. “I’m not letting you go, Dean, not that I’ve found you again and so close,” he marvels. “You were right here under my nose the whole time.”

Dean doesn’t say a thing. Admitting that he purposely orchestrated that situation comes a little too close to admitting he’s been stalking Aidan and he doesn’t want to do that.

Aidan lingers at the door for another long moment and if he doesn’t leave soon, then Dean isn’t going to let him.

“Go,” Dean says fondly, laughing as Aidan lingers. “I’ll be ready for tonight, I swear.”

Aidan seemed to take the last command as an actual order to go because in a blink, he no longer graced his doorstep. Dean felt a weight in his chest sitting against his ribs as old panic came back to him. Without Aidan there, he began to remember all the good, but all of the bad too. He remembers the separation and how the letters had dwindled away.

He remembers the pain of losing Aidan.

He doesn’t like to remember that, but now that Aidan is back in his life, it reverberates through his body like a bell going off in his heart. Dean rubs a hand over his forehead and sets about heading to his closet to unearth the grey suit. It might need a bit more maintenance if he’s expected to wear it out into the city.

When he’s finished with the repairs, he digs into his old letters to look for the last he’d ever received from Aidan. It doesn’t take very long to find and it almost breaks his heart to even think of reading it again.

He knows he should remember the distance of the past and the space that had separated them for so long, but at the same time, Dean is so ready to leap into the future. 

Dean starts with the suit.

He starts with the promise of an evening out. 

And all the while, he ignores the lines of the letter sitting only feet away, whispers of the past saying _I think it’s too difficult, I don’t think I’m ready, I don’t know if I can..._ because Dean can be resolute and utterly stubborn when he wants to and now is one of those times.


	4. Chapter 4

By the time evening rolls around, Dean has been dressed for hours. He keeps making small tweaks to what he’s wearing – changing the pocket square colour at least four times before settling with a deep blue that brings out his eyes – and shining his shoes until he’s sure he’s taken a layer off. 

The worst of it is when he’d glanced at the clock and only an hour had passed.

He’d finished off his hair with a fresh coat of pomade, pacing the wooden floors of his small house while his mind quickly jotted off to places where he obsessed over all the things that had gone wrong between him and Aidan the first time around and what makes him so sure that he can fix it this time around.

Obsessing actually turns out to help, though. Obsessing means he hardly notices the time passing and soon the sun has slipped from its place in the sky, bringing night onwards. So entranced with his thoughts, Dean barely heard the knock at the door. He stopped to drink the rest of his cognac, letting the burn distract his thoughts as he gave himself five long breaths to prepare himself for seeing Aidan again.

Soon, the alcohol takes his mind off the nerves and gives him the courage to step up and open the door. 

For all that Dean’s been obsessing over what he looks like, Aidan appears to have done the same. He must have spent hours pouring himself into that perfect white tuxedo, running pomade through his hair until it’s all tucked back and not a curl rests out of place as they had back in Europe, where the humidity had caused Aidan’s hair to be a wrecked and wild thing.

What Dean also doesn’t expect is the single peony in Aidan’s hands.

“We’ve got a bit of a greenhouse,” Aidan explains, tucking it into a slim vase in the front hall with graceful fingers. “I thought you might like something.”

Dean’s breath catches at the simplicity of the gift, but also marvels at the thoughtfulness behind it. “Thank you,” he says, for both the gift, but also for the choice of it. He’s grateful it’s not a rose or a lily or any of those other dismal flowers that remind him of darker times and endless funerals. 

He tucks it carefully into his buttonhole, loving the brightness it brings to his suit. 

His heart still hammers as effectively as if shells have been dropped around him and he’s deaf, dumb, and blind in Aidan’s presence. Time had done a number on healing up the wounds, but seeing the man you’d fallen in love with has a tendency to open them up again as if a surgeon going in with a scalpel. 

“Shall we go? I’ve hired a taxi for the night, it’s waiting just outside,” Aidan says, holding his elbow out to Dean as if he expects Dean to take it – as if he expects no one at all to be watching and as if all those moments in the past where Aidan seemed shamed to be seen together have suddenly evaporated.

It’s not that easy to erase the things you regret from your past days. 

They haunt you like a shadow and the most important lesson that Dean has learned is that it’s important to learn to live with it so that it doesn’t consume you.

Dean takes a deep breath in, pushing all his doubts and fears out when he exhales. He has no idea what’s happened to Aidan in the interjecting years that separate their companionship and the truth is that he’s so grateful to be back in his presence that he can overlook many of the old mistakes.

Dean slides his arm through Aidan’s, holding tight. “Let’s,” he agrees, surrendering himself to the lightheaded joy that always comes with being at Aidan’s side. 

The cab ride into the city was filled with laughter and stories of old friends; Aidan still spoke with his hands and Dean still took in every shift in his facial expression and every ice-melting smile that Aidan shared when he was truly overwhelmed with the warmth of any given moment. By the time they reached Times Square, Dean wasn’t so sure he wanted to get out.

Aidan crawls out of the cab with the grace he’s always possessed, but Dean lingers long enough that Aidan pokes his head back inside, concern writ on his face. Dean shakes his head, trying to rid himself of the worry that as soon as he steps onto that sidewalk, the spell will be broken and they’ll go back to that indifference that had always fallen over them in public.

“Dean,” Aidan quietly murmurs. “We’re going to be late.”

‘Sorry,” Dean says. “I’ll be right out. Give me a moment.”

He expects Aidan to take his hand away, but he doesn’t. He lets his fingers linger atop Dean’s hand and curls in closer. “I’ll be right here,” Aidan says quietly. “I’m not going to leave this time. I won’t shy away.”

And _oh_ , how Dean wants to believe in that promise.

He grabs hold of Aidan’s hand and uses it to hoist himself out of the cab, giving him momentum to continue onwards. To Dean’s great surprise, Aidan doesn’t let go of his hand, even though they’re surrounded by other people in public. It’s as if they don’t exist, despite the nasty glares that are often shot their way.

“Fuck them,” Aidan says cheerfully, clearly aware of them. “Come on, we’re almost there. You’re going to love Evie, she’s amazing.”

“It seems you already love her, too,” Dean replies, his jealousy palpable.

Aidan doesn’t seem inclined to reply to Dean’s mood. “She and I are platonic. I’m fairly sure she doesn’t like _anyone_ , male or female. Not romantically, at least. Certainly not sexually, and it’s definitely not from lack of suitors. She’s been good enough to allow me to live with her because two fortunes are better than one. I’m grateful because it’s her house and look where it’s led us.”

Aidan guides them into the club as if he owns it, steering them to a small, private table in the back of the club. There’s already champagne waiting for them atop a satin black tablecloth. Dean’s grateful for both the privacy and the romantic atmosphere it provides, which only grows when Aidan holds his chair out for him.

“So I take it this really is a date,” Dean says.

“I thought I was pretty damn obvious about my intentions,” Aidan says, stunned. “Was I not clear?” Aidan pulls a face like he can’t believe that he’s been that neglectful about making that information clear. “Next time, perhaps I’ll also send along a telegram.”

He reaches over the table to take Dean’s hand as the music is cued up and a beautiful woman’s voice pours out over the crowd. Dean closes his eyes and falls into it, thinking that she sounds exactly as one might imagine the lull of the ocean sounding like as it crests over you. He turns away from Aidan reluctantly to look at the stage.

Evie is a thing of beauty. Her emerald dress glitters under the stagelights and her auburn hair is pinned up expertly. At one point during her set, she catches Dean looking straight at her and winks right back at him. He glances at Aidan, wondering if he’s been caught out, but Aidan’s laughing at him in that quiet way he has where the corners of his lips curve up playfully. 

“She’s something, isn’t she?” Aidan whispers, in between songs.

“It’s ethereal, it really is,” Dean marvels. “It’s beautiful. You’re a lucky man, to have this in your life every day.”

“She does like to sing at all turns,” Aidan admits. “I don’t think that’s why I’m lucky, though,” he says, squeezing Dean’s hand as if to reinforce the exact reason why he’s so lucky, now. 

Dean smirks when he realizes that he won’t have to fear this any longer. This isn’t a nightmare because nothing ever came to pass. Instead, it’s going to happen exactly as he’s been dreaming for so very long. The trick is that Dean needs to put as much effort into this as Aidan. He can’t sit back and be a passive spectator in his own life.

It’s that epiphany that stays with him as the set ends and Evie makes her bows, leaving the stage. It takes more time until the lights come on, the announcer telling them that Evie will be back for another encore later on in the evening. Waiters bustle around and for a gracious and generous tip, alcohol will be delivered directly to the tables.

It seems that this truly is a club where discretion is key.

“After these shows, Evie likes to stay out on the town,” Aidan says, keeping his eye on Dean. “She says she likes the energy and the atmosphere.”

“I can see her point.”

“It means...” Aidan says quietly. “It means that the house is going to be very quiet and very lonely tonight. Do you think you might come over?” he suggests quietly. “And fill it with life? With laughter? With _you_?”

“Won’t people talk?” Dean says, reminding Aidan of the distance between them because of the rumours that had circulated before.

Aidan shrugs, looking carefree like he hasn’t in years. “I think I’m a bit older now; less inclined to care as much. Especially not when I realized what life is like without you at my side.”

In the dark of the club, there aren’t many eyes on them, but Dean still understands that what he’s about to do will catch the attention of one or two people. Still, he can’t let Aidan say such perfect things like that and have him go without a reward. He leans forward over the small table, cups Aidan’s cheeks with his palms so delicately that his hands tremble slightly, and when he kisses Aidan, it’s with the outpouring of so many years of grief and missing him.

Aidan leans into it, reaches a hand out to wrap around Dean’s neck and pull him closer. 

Dean lets out a startled ‘mmph’, but he’s grinning before he remembers that it’s not very conducive to deepening the kiss if his grin stays that wide. He forgets that there could be a whole club of people watching and instead lets the past ebb and bring him back into the flow, making him remember how easy it is to be in love with Aidan and his charming smiles and his easy touches.

Even now, kissing him seems to erase all the hurts of the past and Dean is imminently grateful for that.

“Home?” Aidan suggests, voice throaty.

“Your place,” Dean agrees.

“Home,” Aidan corrects, taking Dean’s hand in his as he tugs him, eager to get out and into some privacy.

At this moment with his blood running hot in his veins, Dean’s very much on the same page.


	5. Chapter 5

When Dean closes his eyes, he finds himself drifting into the enticing world of daydreams, lately. Ever since the night on the town with Aidan, Dean finds that reality hardly bears the same promise than his fantasies do. When they had retired to Aidan’s large mansion, they had quickly tumbled into bed together after so long apart and when Dean closes his eyes now, he thinks of the slow slide of Aidan’s fingertips over the naked plane of Dean’s torso. 

Aidan had caressed the bare planes of Dean’s body as no one had in many years, leaving him yearning to bear himself in large mansions rather than on dirty battlefields. Still, the night had drawn to an end and there was only so long they could pretend that the break of day was not quick in coming.

And the world would not have changed how it thought in such a short time. 

It was, then, a surprise to find a letter in his post addressed to him in a very familiar and much loved handwriting. Dean lingered on the porch, his finger tucked under the envelope as he opened the letter, unfolding it and cautious not to tear the paper in his eagerness to get to the message within.

> My dearest Dean,
> 
> It seems as if an age has passed since we exchanged letters, you and I. I’d like to begin to rectify that and give you something to pass the hours of your day. I am aware that perhaps I am too keen in sending you this letter so soon after the last we spoke, but I cannot restrain myself. I find that now that you are back in my life, you have utterly dominated each moment and overtake my thoughts. It is a disease I once thought I could cure from my blood, but I am aware this was a mistake I made. 
> 
> You are no disease. You make my blood sing as if it was afire and I should never say that such a thing was terrible. 
> 
> Write to me, Dean. Tell me what you wish of me. And do not be a stranger. Visit when you can and you will always be welcome.

It isn’t signed, but on the back of the letter in pausing calligraphy with heavy ink blots are the words: _I’m very sorry for the mistakes of the past_. They are words written haltingly, but they are here and Dean takes solace in the fact that Aidan is making an effort.

Dean clasps the letter tighter in hand as he returns inside the house. He had planned to spend the day amidst his canvases, painting new commissions to earn some money, but he believes there is the first the more important task of a well thought-out reply. His calligraphy had never faltered over the years, though there had been some months after the war that his letters shook slightly.

It had been an unavoidable consequence of the minor shell-shock that had accosted him and Dean will be forever grateful that restful sleep, warm boots, and decent food had erased the nightmares of constant barrage. 

It takes him little time to pen his reply to Aidan.

The message is simple: he’d had a lovely time in the city, a lovelier time at Aidan’s, and will most certainly visit when he next possibly can. He digs through his drawers to find a very special self-made seal before pressing it into the envelope to cast the wax to the paper and seal his message away before he can regret those last lines he had written.

_I will dream of you, no doubt. When I visit, you will find yourself in the difficult position of having to ask me to leave and I will refuse. I knew, years ago, that my place was at your side. Distance has done nothing to dissuade my mind of such a notion._

He had quickly placed the appropriate postage on the letter and pushed it out the door before he could regret those words.

He didn’t. He never would, but the fear of Aidan’s rejection after reading them was a powerful fear and Dean had lived in a hellscape of nightmares for years. And yet, this scared him more than almost every other horror he’d witnessed. He shakes off that worry and returns inside to begin mixing paints together in order to begin a new landscape.

This one, he thinks, will be a remnant of a better time – his one and only visit to Ireland when Aidan had taken him atop high hills to look out onto the ocean and over the craggy edges of the Cliffs of Moher. Once he begins to paint, it’s like it always is. He loses hours to the task of painting, until the point that he almost feels as if he’s back in Ireland on that cloudy day as the mist hung low and obstructed all but the closest views from them.

The weather had kept tourists away and Dean knows it was that privacy that had dared Aidan onwards for a kiss. Aidan had never looked finger, standing there in his military uniform, clean-shaven, and utterly besotted. 

Dean will never forget that day.

He will never forget that _kiss_.

When he’s finished signing the painting, he steps back to evaluate his work. He knows that once it dries, he’ll bring it to Aidan’s and it will be the cause for his visit. Dean wants to go over right this second, but given that Aidan employs a small staff and Evie lives there, he doesn’t want to seem too desperate.

Never mind that he is. 

Instead, he rings up Adam to give himself a bit of a distraction, knowing that he can’t offer the bright beckoning lights of the city. “What I do have,” he clarifies, “is a lovely wine that will send your heart to sing.”

“Better than Graham?”

“Does Graham bear hints of oak from a ten year old cask?”

“Hold on, I’ll ask,” Adam jokes. Dean shakes his head, but Adam actually eases back from the phone to shout to Graham. When he comes back, he sounds as innocent as anyone can. “He says he’s got a thirty-odd year tinge of frustration at his choice of friends.”

“Fair enough,” Dean says. “Come over, the both of you.” 

“Why? So we can hear your stories about why you can’t possibly go see Aidan?”

Dean doesn’t even want to dignify that with a response. “Would the both of you come over so I can cook dinner and you can potentially take my mind off my gorgeous, witty, funny, and very interesting neighbour?”

“We’ll be there in an hour,” Adam promises. 

They were able to distract Dean for the course of a night, but it was too good to be true. Graham had passed out on the futon, leaving Adam on the porch with Dean as they both gaped at the large mansion that was a stone’s throw away. Aidan’s last letter was in Dean’s pocket and Dean couldn’t imagine letting it move anytime soon.

“You never stopped loving him, did you,” Adam muses, tipping the bottle of wine clumsily into his glass. Dean laughed and chased after the drops, trying not to let a single one of them drop. “I know he was an arse for a long time, but you’ve forgiven him?”

Dean had. 

The problem was that he knew he shouldn’t have given in so quickly. After all, Aidan had acted like he hadn’t existed and now he was charming, wining, and dining Dean like none of that had happened. So many of them had tried to forget the past, but this wasn’t a war that Dean was trying to blot out. Instead, it was a good man who made some mistakes. Dean sipped deep into his glass, letting the warmth of the wine settle in his stomach. “I shouldn’t, should I? For all his kind words, for all his goodness, he still abandoned me and turned his back because the world doesn’t want to see us.”

“But you love him anyway,” Adam sighed happily.

“You make it sound as if I’m some fairytale character,” Dean laughed warmly, staring at the beautiful amber lights pouring out from the windows of Aidan’s home. Dean groaned, setting his empty glass beside him on the ground. “I don’t know what to do. I can’t have it happen like last time.”

“Then don’t let it happen like last time,” Adam replied.

That sounded surprisingly simple.

Dean tried to wrack his head around how it was going to be different this time. How was he supposed to make things different this time? He took in a sharp breath, watching shadows pass over the windows. “He has to make a decision,” he admitted. “And I have to ask the question that forces that decision.”

“Even if it’s a decision that leads to your heart being broken?” 

Dean knew that it was a possibility, but that was why some decisions were as hard as they were. It was a flip of a coin. It was joy or heartbreak, heads or tails. It wouldn’t happen if Dean didn’t ask the question, but if he didn’t, then they could keep going.

And it would probably fall apart again because history was doomed to repeat itself.

“I’ll ask him tomorrow,” Dean said. 

Preferably after a great deal of courage in the form of very strong alcohols. 

Before the sun could come up, Dean made sure to get Adam into a comfortable bed. He couldn’t dare be that poor a host to let him languish without comfort. He was even so kind as to make sure it was the same bed as Graham. Once they were settled away, Dean turned in for the night, alone with his thoughts for the first time in a great long while.

He knew that he had shown courage in great numbers during the war, but somehow this felt more terrifying. This was the difference between whether his days were spent in happiness hidden in secret as to why he was so elated or to the misery of a life led without love, but without hiding. He could understand why it had been so difficult for Aidan to admit to the relationship, but now Dean was toying with the notion of asking him to make a decision.

And here he was, unsure of which answer he even wanted.

He fell asleep with the dream of Aidan’s lips on his, his radiant smile greeting Dean as it could every morning. He spent the night awash with dreams of a life in which he made his choice and though it was lived under a veil of secrecy, it was worth every moment because it meant that it was spent with the other half of Dean’s heart.

One more day. 

He would let Aidan have one more day before asking the very question that would turn his whole life upside down. Dean felt as if this was some sort of kind consolation, when he knew very well that it was only a way to delay the most terrifying question he had ever asked.

And in one day, his life would be forever changed in one way or the other.


	6. Chapter 6

When Dean awoke the next day, he instantly regretted the copious amounts of wine from the night before. In truth, he knew he had needed it to push him to the decision he had made, but with his head splitting and the pain radiating through it, he could both appreciate and regret at once.

Luckily, Dean was acquainted with fine friends who knew that the best cure for a hangover was greasy bacon and hair of the dog. There was a hefty platter of breakfast and a Bloody Mary waiting for Dean when he awoke. He drifted into the seat without a word, functioning purely on the grace of his body moving for him.

It was only after several sips and bites that he felt remotely like a human being again. “I wish you two were both single so I could woo each of you separately,” Dean said through a mouth of food. He let out a groan of pleasure when he took another bite of bacon and it was even better than the first.

When he finally surfaced for air, Adam was looking at Dean intently from above the rim of his glasses. “So? Are you going to do it?”

Dean searched through his memories as to what Adam was talking about, but he had a sinking sensation he knew exactly what Adam was talking about. It was because he hadn’t been able to get through the night without tossing and turning and thinking about that single thing, himself. “I don’t suppose I can convince the both of you to do it for me?”

“I’d do it if you paid me,” Graham said, but Adam soon elbowed him in the side, which was as good as killing that idea. “Or not,” he added, shrugging. “Sorry, Deano, the other half has spoken.”

“You have to do it yourself,” Adam lectured, taking a seat with a plate of fresh scrambled eggs. “No hiding behind letters, friends, or telegrams. No carrier pigeons, no morse signals, no light signals,” he continued. “And no messages spelled out in the sand.”

“You’ve left me no choice but to paint it,” Dean joked in a maudlin tone.

Adam’s withering glare told him precisely how funny he found such a comment. Apparently, this wasn’t an instance when humour was appreciated. He sighed as he settled into his seat, relaxing as he turned his attention to breakfast, ignoring what he was going to do today.

It was a frightening to do list.

After all, when number one on your list was to get over one’s hangover and number two involved asking the supposed love of your life if he wanted things to be serious or if he wanted them to be over. Dean felt the pain in his head grow tighter and he wondered if he couldn’t put number three on his to-do list: drown himself in the cool bubbles of champagne until the elation and ecstasy pulled him from all worries. 

Dean practically inhaled the rest of his breakfast, staring fearfully up at Graham and Adam from his plate. “You’re both not leaving until you’re sure I’ve gone to talk to him,” he said knowingly.

They both shake their head in tandem. Right. Dean aligned himself with stubborn people and there was a point in his life where he appreciated that. It forced him to break out of his shell and to experience the world so it didn’t merely pass him by. 

Of course, it also meant that in times like these, he was sincerely frustrated with the fact that they were pushing him to do what’s best. 

“I need another drink,” Dean said. 

“You’re not going over there drunk,” Adam informed him. “I’ve laid out a suit for you, you’re going to finish your breakfast and then you’ll get dressed, put your hat on, and go see Aidan. You’re not going to come back until you’ve had _the talk_.” Dean stared at Adam with a look that implied he might actually be frightened of him. “Don’t worry, it’s your nice grey one. It brings out your eyes.”

Graham nodded from behind his cup of coffee.

“No matter how this goes, I think I need space from the two of you,” Dean said, draining the last of his coffee as he rose to his feet, aware that he was beginning to rush forward to try and get this accursed conversation over with. “We’ve grown far, far too close.”

“Yes, we have,” Adam agreed. “Go get changed, now.”

Dean nodded and saluted with all the dutiful soldier’s grace he could, shaking his head as he wandered to the back bedroom to discover that Adam had, indeed, laid out a suit with a cornflower blue tie. His straw hat sat beside the outfit, making up a pretty little picture. This was no mere outfit.

This was a uniform.

Dean was about to walk into the fiercest battle of his life and he said that with the green ghosts of impossible battles in his past. Those wars could only claim his life, but this one could rob him of his happiness, forever. With a deep breath, Dean summoned all his courage and stripped down to his skivvies and his undershirt, shaving in the round mirror before dressing himself in the crisp suit that had not seen the light of day for some time.

When he slicked his hair back and placed his hat atop it, he felt a new man.

The only trouble was that he still carried the same fears as he had before. Dean fidgeted with his collar as he made his way back to Adam and Graham for his inspection, standing at attention with his chin held high.

“Relax,” Adam advised. “We’re hardly going to dock your pay for a single crease.”

Graham smirked behind Adam. “In fact, it might be the opposite. If you return without being folded in half, we’ll both be very disappointed in you.” 

Dean breathed out a laugh despite his nerves. He knew that he had to continue to that mansion that dwarfed his humble little home and he had to accept whatever end came with it. He gripped Adam by the shoulder like a lifeline and gave Graham a firm nod, closing his front door firmly behind him as he placed his straw hat firmly upon his head and continued.

He didn’t even know if Aidan would be in, but he knew that he couldn’t leave until he returned home.

The walk was brief, too brief for Dean to become consumed with his thoughts. He rang the bell, listening to the ominous echo and hoping, belatedly, that Evie wasn’t at home. He hardly wanted to bother her or have witnesses to the speech he planned to deliver.

It was luck, then, or perhaps ill chance, that Aidan was the one who answered the door and beckoned Dean inside. “Everyone’s gone off to work in the gardens,” he explained, taking Dean’s hat and coat, his palm sliding to the small of Dean’s back comfortably, coaxing him inside. “We’re alone,” he murmured, lips already pressing a slow path upwards from Dean’s collarbone, angling to reach his jaw.

The kisses unnerved him and threatened to take Dean away from what he had come here to say.

Still, he could hardly completely deny them. He turned into the warmth of Aidan’s body, letting his clean-shaven cheek brush against the stubble of Aidan’s beard as he grasped Aidan’s lapel and closed the space between them to steal a long lover’s kiss. It felt utterly perfect and for the briefest of moments, Dean forgot that he had come here to present an ultimatum.

“You smell great,” Aidan murmured. 

“I think Adam pressed my clothes,” Dean admitted with a fond laugh. “He was very eager for me to wear this.”

“I’m glad he pushed for it,” Aidan growled. “You look perfect in it. I think it’s your best suit, if I’m not mistaken. The last I saw you wear it was so long ago, I can barely recall it.”

“I think I wore it once. The day the trains came to bring us to the ships,” Dean says, trying to recall if this was the same suit. It didn’t really seem to matter anymore. If he had worn this suit in the past, then it was a memory locked in time and shouldn’t affect today. It was that thought that had him pull away from Aidan, taking a deep breath to steady himself.

Aidan picked up on the shift in the mood, regarding Dean warily. “What is it?” he asked. “Come, come upstairs, we can talk in private.”

Dean exhaled, grateful that they could have some modicum of privacy even if he didn’t really want to have this conversation. Dean clasped Aidan’s hand when he was being tugged towards the bedroom, aware at least that if they got within five feet of a bed, there wouldn’t be any talking done.

Instead, Dean led him into the study.

Inside, there were half-sketches and letters that seemed to drift away, as if the thought had escaped.

“What is all this?” Dean wondered.

Aidan shrugged, a sheepish smile on his face. “I know you’re the artist of the two of us, but I thought that I ought to at least give it a try.”

Dean brushed his fingers against a half-started portrait of Jimmy from when he’d been working the kitchen. “Do you mind...?” he asked, one hand already reaching out for the charcoal and plucking the portrait from where it hung by clothespins. Aidan offered permission with a wave of his hand, giving Dean the permission to do whatever he liked.

It felt like falling into old habits. Time passed without Dean’s awareness of how quickly because all his attention was devoted to the picture at hand. He could faintly feel Aidan’s gaze on him, but it didn’t do much to distract him from his task.

Soon, amateur lines were expanded upon and the sketch had taken life-like form, giving a glimmer of playfulness to the sketch. 

“You always did have far more artistic talent than I,” Aidan mused softly. “Does anyone keep you on retainer? Someone ought to, with your talent.”

“I’ve got no patron,” Dean teased, as if they’re back in Renaissance days.

“What if you had?”

“Excuse me?”

Dean doesn’t understand the scheming look in Aidan’s eye, but he’s clearly cooking up some wild thought. He places the sketch behind him, trying not to look around the room to see what other unfinished pieces he could bring to completion. “This,” Aidan says, that wild promise in his tone as he’s latched onto an idea he likes. “This is how you and I can be together.”

“What?” Dean laughed, shocked that they had not only jumped forward, but had landed in the exact conversation he’d been dragging his heels on. He didn’t understand how Aidan had managed not only to jump ahead of him so brazenly, but seemed to do it with no fear. 

He knew that there was no way they could be together publically, but he had half-expected Aidan to rebuff him under the excuse that it would be too hard to keep their lives a secret. And yet, now he was coming forward with ideas about them being together.

Something fluttered in Dean’s stomach in a combination of nerves and joy. “You want to be with me?”

“I thought I was beyond clear,” Aidan chastised. “Dean, I love you. I was an arse, I know that,” he insisted. “And I will apologize for years with my words and whatever actions and cherished promises I can give. I am sorry, I am. That was the past, though,” he said. “This is the present and I want to talk about our future.”

Dean laughed, only because they had managed to live in all three tenses within the span of a few seconds, though they were capable of doing that always, moving from the past into the too-brief present and always charging forward into the future.

“And the future involves me?” He was grinning because he loved to even think about the possibility. “I honestly half expected that you were going to let me down easily, perhaps a bit kinder than last time.”

“I found out what life was like without you in it,” Aidan said, face contorted with displeasure. “And honestly? I don’t want to go back there, now that I’ve found you.” He took long strides across the room to take Dean’s hands in his own. “Stay with me.”

“And let you be my patron?”

“And work as an independent artist amongst like-minded people.” Aidan shrugged, tugging Dean a little closer. “On occasion, I might see fit to hire you. Provided you’re willing to work for a competitive wage.”

Dean looked around the room of half-finished portraits, giving a fond laugh. “So I’d live here?”

“I won’t say happily ever after because we both know that you can’t escape the nightmares that easily, but...I’d like to imagine you would be happy with me. Here.” 

“I could be,” Dean replied, barely more than a whisper. “I could very well be, but you need to make me a promise. I understand that you were scared the first time and so was I, but so much time has passed and...and I need you to promise me that if we can’t guarantee a happily ever after, you’re going to do your damndest to treat me properly.”

Aidan stared at Dean, sliding his fingertips gently over Dean’s knuckles. “Can I do one better?”

“How’s that?”

“Adam warned me that you were coming,” Aidan admitted. “So this is hardly spontaneous. In fact, it’s been planned since the first time someone saw you roaming around the grounds. The idea wouldn’t leave my head and...”

“And?”

“I know,” Aidan murmured, “I know that no one else will know, but we will. We’ll know. And I think that’ll be enough, really.”

“Aid, I have no bloody clue what you’re on about,” Dean informed him, blinking as he tried to settle his thoughts in the general vicinity of the topic, which was foreign and lost to him. Aidan seemed serious about it, though, so Dean wasn’t going to steer him away from whatever it was. 

“Dean, marry me.”

Dean felt as if he had been hit with a mortar shell. His hearing went out of his ears and he suddenly was scrambling for words or sense, but none came. He feared none would ever come again. He looked to Aidan’s features for a hint of teasing, but there was none. He was utterly serious and Dean felt beyond strange, touching something that he had previously only known as a far-off fantasy.

“It will only live between you, I, and God,” Aidan admitted, “but the only one I truly care about is you. Say yes? Stay with me, here, and never leave.”

“This is all a bit quick,” was the first thing Dean could think to say. 

“When you consider how long it took me to get here, it’s actually far too long.”

Aidan released Dean’s hands, giving him a fond smile as he ran his fingertips slowly over Dean’s knuckles, making his skin shiver. 

“If you need some time to make your decision, I understand,” he said. “This is hardly something I’ve been planning, so I’m afraid that I couldn’t do better,” he said, unearthing a ring from his pocket that was silver and emerald. It was modest and would not call anyone’s attention to it. It hardly looked a wedding ring at all, but it was beautiful enough that it would never be mistaken as anything dull.

It was pressed into Dean’s palm. 

“I’ll wait for an answer.”

Dean nodded, folding his fingers over the ring and taking several deep breaths as he began to walk out of the room. Lucky, then, that his sense came back to him before he could depart. He stopped two paces from the threshold and turned to Aidan, knowing what the answer in his heart was. After all, there had only been one favourable outcome to this whole conversation.

“You’re not going to even put it on me?” Dean remarked, smiling wryly.

Aidan gaped back at him.

“That’s a yes, Aidan,” Dean added, as if he had to rub in his answer.

He didn’t have much more time for witticisms or sassy retorts because Aidan closed the distance between them, sending Dean off-balance with a powerful kiss that he felt like he’d never experienced before. It was laced with joy, bliss, and the knowledge that they had a whole future in front of them. While Dean was recovering from the after-effects of such a kiss, Aidan took the opportunity to slide the ring on his finger, pressing a kiss to the band fondly. 

“I’ll make you one,” Dean promised. “If I am going to be your in-house artist, I’d better earn my keep.”

“Don’t worry,” said Aidan. “I know you’ll get to that soon enough.”

* * *

It was dinner, later that evening. 

Dean felt like he was glowing beyond human possibility. The ring sat comfortably on his finger, but he hadn’t called attention to it or said a word about the private engagement. Instead, he focused on serving Adam and Graham wine from Aidan’s collection. It so happened that while he was pouring, the light caught the band and called Adam’s attention to it. 

Dean caught his eye, unsure what he was going to say.

Rather than say anything at all, Adam merely smiled with the warmth of a friend feeling the deepest reserves of pride. 

“So,” Aidan began the conversation, clapping his hands together. “What’s new?”

And, for that and the wicked smile on Aidan’s face as he prepared to drop the bomb on their slightly-suspecting friends, Dean knew that he had made the right choice and would never cease to love the man beside him as much as he did in that precise moment.


End file.
